


In the Early Morning

by theinvalidedsoldier



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Domesticity, Fluff, M/M, Tired John, Tired Sherlock, slight Johnlock if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-06
Updated: 2018-04-06
Packaged: 2019-04-19 09:28:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14234307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theinvalidedsoldier/pseuds/theinvalidedsoldier
Summary: In which John and Sherlock are winding down from a case.





	In the Early Morning

**Author's Note:**

> This is honestly just some fluff without plot, for those whose teeth are already rotting.

  The drowned out sound of EastEnders, and the aroma of exotic spices circulated around the Baker Street flat at roughly half two in the morning. John found it funny - and quite baffling - how Sherlock managed to get a delivery at that hour. When asked about it, all that was mumbled in response was a vague, “They owe me a favour. Many favours.” Accompanied with a smug smirk. John decided to drop it.

  The electric fire was crackling, and the two boys were exhausted. After four hours of chasing a pretentious serial killer (who wrote Chinese on the walls of his victims houses, with - oh, so originally, Sherlock contemptuously pointed out - the blood of his victims.) around central London, they were both undeniably famished and about to imminently collapse from tiredness. There was a sense of banter in the room, a sleepy one, but almost an inside joke between the two of them. What accompanied that was a definite sense of domesticity, alongside each other like always, how it should be.

  It was at these late hours of the night, or debatably, very early morning, where Sherlock was stripped from his perpetual narkiness, and volatility. Where the afterglow (if you will) of an extravagant case was euphoric, and he spent the few hours that it lasted just wallowing in the peace. It was during this time frame also, that John would observe Sherlock’s barriers being slowly but surely removed, and would remove his own. His fear of how he was perceived, his battle with his sexuality, his reluctancy to get attached to people, all gone. This lead to two very pliable - cuddly, really - ‘platonic life partners’ (which would ensue hilarity in John’s mind whenever he thought of that phrase.)

  John grabbed the two plastic tubberware boxes containing the continuously more enchanting Indian food. They were both extraodrinarily hungry, so enchanting seemed to be an accurate word to describe it. Sherlock was draped across the couch unceremoniously. Charming. “Budge up,” John quipped, knocking Sherlock’s practically endless legs off the end of the couch. John took the place where they were previously draped. Sherlock looked only mildly affronted, which spoke wonders as to how sleepy he really was.

  At the whiff of food, Sherlock was up, which was also quite hilarious in its own right. They both ate in unison, the silence wasn’t uncomfortable, small talk wasn’t necessary at all. The whole ‘personal bubble’ mindset was completely evaded, they were both shoulder to shoulder, side to side, backs both resting comfortably against the couch. Sherlock’s legs were curled up and crossed, how he had managed to do it so carelessly with legs as long as those, John didn’t know.

  They were both finished in no time, the air of sleepiness getting stronger by the minute. John sat back in the seat and sighed contentedly. “That was pretty mental,” John remarked, commenting on the case. A loose chuckle erupted from Sherlock. “That it was.” They both laughed.

  “It was barely a five, honestly, but I’ve never seen a man of his caliber run that fast.” That sent them both into a downward spiral of hysteria. The man was at least in his mid forties, and had the build of a baby bear, but he could waddle at least, and he could waddle fast. Tears poured out of Sherlock’s eyes at the imagery, as he listened to John violently hiccup next to him. “Oh Jesus,” John wheezed, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes.

  After a few well-spent minutes laughing inappropriately at a murderer, and his ridiculous run, they both collapsed into each other. “Yes, well, that’s a case to be remembered,” Sherlock laughed, gingerly. After the last of their energy had been spent laughing, it was futile to try and deny their exhaustion. Curled into each other like they were practically codependent, John could feel his eyes closing on their own accord. “My god, I’m absolutely knackered,” John whispered, his head resting on Sherlock’s shoulder without much care in the world for how it looked. All he received as a response was in an incoherent mumble.

  With a warmth humming throughout Sherlock’s body, the last thing he could remember before falling asleep was, _‘Yes, this is good. Very good.’_ John shortly followed suit, surrendering to his body’s plea to shut down accordingly.

  When the two boys woke up the next morning, they were still entangled, limbs intertwining limbs, and a blanket was thrown over the two of them. John’s face heated up slightly at the realization, that the two of them weren’t doing too good of a job proving to Mrs. Hudson that they weren’t in fact a pair of ‘married ones’.


End file.
